


Mistakes Signed in Red

by Sword_Kallya



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Death, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Force-Feeding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's Batman there's a revolving door on the afterlife, Near Death, Past Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne, Talia is going to make use of it, Torture, Whump, coughing up blood, death mention, hugs are had, non-consensual stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sword_Kallya/pseuds/Sword_Kallya
Summary: Ra's al Ghul wants Bruce Wayne back in the League of Assassins, by any means necessary. Unfortunately, the Bat's pain tolerance is too high for traditional techniques to be affected and leave him functioning afterwards.Fortunately, there's a flock of Robins that will make decent whipping boys.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [envysparkler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/gifts).



> Title from “The Price of Command” by Mercedes Lackey, sung by Larry Warner.
> 
> Obligatory disclaimer: I have only read Batman: The Cult and Batman: Return of the Dark Knight, so I have had no canon exposure to either Dick or Talia. This is mostly based on fanfic characterizations.
> 
> In regards to major canon events: Jason died and came back, Bruce has not yet been lost in the time stream, all four boys and Cass are now getting along and living in Wayne Manor because I say so. Steph, Cass, and Barbara are around but currently are busy keeping Gotham from nuking itself while the guys are busy having been kidnapped.
> 
> Rough ages because what is time:  
> Talia: Who knows, her dad is immortal  
> Bruce: 40s  
> Dick: Late 20s  
> Jason: Early 20s  
> Tim: Late teens  
> Damian: Early teens, no younger than 11
> 
> EDIT: To the anon who felt the need to come onto the first fic I posted in half a year and call many of my friends terrible people: Next time you want to be an ass, come off of anon, coward.

Bruce should call Clark.

He  _ knew _ he should. Talia had threatened to have Damian killed if she thought he was calling for Superman, and had put a voice sensor on his throat just to make sure she wouldn’t miss it, but she didn’t know Clark’s real name. Maybe Clark could get there before she figured out who he was talking about. Maybe the voice sensor wouldn’t even pick it up if he whispered it quietly enough. Maybe Talia had been bluffing, even. Her first loyalty was always to her family, but Damian was her  _ son. _ She wouldn’t have him killed as a bargaining chip.

Would she?

Maybe she  _ would. _ Talia had grown up in the League of Assassins, after all. And Bruce hadn’t seen any of his boys since the League had taken them, not since they’d put a gun to Jason’s head and said  _ put your hands up, Bat, this one is expendable.  _ He didn’t even know if they were all in the same  _ facility. _ Ra’s could have spread them across the globe. If Bruce called for Clark, he could be signing their death warrants.

He didn’t  _ know. _

Finally, the assassins cut him down. Bruce gasped for air, face pressed to the cold stone floor, shoulders aching where they had been yanked out of their sockets by his own body weight. At the edge of his vision, a pair of genuine leather boots paced soundlessly closer, steel toes somehow refusing to ring on granite. Bruce tried to gather his breath.

“You try my patience, beloved.”

“Where… my  _ sons,” _ Bruce ground out.

“Currently, in far better shape than you are.” One of Talia’s feet twitched, like it wanted to tap. The League assassin on Bruce’s back ground a knee into his kidney. “The majority seem to have made the intelligent decision that obedience is preferable to further pain. Damian and Jason are settling in well. Timothy continues to require gagging, of course, but he is allowed a certain amount of freedom so long as he is silenced. Should he not learn his place soon, my father is considering… more permanent methods.”

Bruce  _ snarled,  _ bucking frantically, but the only thing it won him was a blinding headache as his captor slammed his head into the floor. The image of Tim, clever, brilliant Tim, with a scar on his throat where Ra’s had…

“Kill you,” Bruce growled. How  _ dare _ Ra’s.

“Unlikely,” Talia deemed it. “And he’s in no true danger. His mind is too brilliant to waste, as yours is. My father will not see him come to harm, so long as he does nothing monumentally stupid.”

Bruce knew that tone. He shuddered at the low, smooth roll of it, the one Talia had once admitted she'd practiced in the mirror until she had it perfect. The contralto variation of Ra's al Ghul's smooth baritone. The tone that meant that someone was going to wish for death, soon.

And she hadn't mentioned one of his sons. Bruce's heart leapt into his throat.

"Talia," he whispered. His voice cracked, a weakness, but he didn't,  _ couldn't _ care. "Talia. Where is Dick?"

“There is a Council of Spiders base in Chile that has been causing difficulties. My father wishes you to lead the assault.” 

“Not… killing. Not f’r him.”

“Hm.” Talia’s boots left his field of vision. “Get him up.”

As soon as the assassins had hauled him up onto bloodied knees, Bruce felt his heart stop. He made a harsh, wounded noise, thrashing against restraining hands.

Sometime while Bruce was distracted — maybe by the stress position, or the car battery, he wasn’t sure — Talia had had Dick dragged into the room and chained to the wall. He was in the same loose linen pants Bruce had been forced into, his domino who–knew–where. Bruce’s blood boiled at the thought of Talia watching while her men stripped off Nightwing’s suit, taking in every scar and mark. Maybe even  _ commenting, _ the way she had when Bruce was stripped — no. He couldn’t think of that, not right now. 

“Richard has proven skilled, as is only expected of your first ward, but he has also been more recalcitrant than expected,” Talia said in that same horribly calm tone. “As have you. It has been suggested that we use a different approach. She approached Dick, ignoring how he went tense, clear blue eyes going hard.

Talia dug her fingers into a heavy bruise on Dick’s side, one that had to go down to the bone. Dick whined, audible even through the heavy cloth gag they had forced into his mouth. “Perhaps another’s pain will persuade you, beloved. You were always weak, in that way.”

“Talia.” Bruce wasn’t sure how he was talking when he  _ couldn’t breathe. _ “Talia,  _ please.” _

“I have given you chances.” Talia left Dick alone, bending down to take Bruce’s chin in her hand. “You refused them all. You  _ stole _ my  _ son.” _ She disappeared, and then there was a hand in his hair, pulling him up, forcing him to stare directly at Dick. “Take his gag out. His father needs to hear him scream.”

_ “No!” _

Either Talia hadn’t made the same threats to Dick, or he was braver than Bruce, because as soon as the cloth was out of his mouth, he started to shout, “Su—”

The word morphed into a scream as a fist came down on Dick’s already–bruised ribs. Bruce flinched like he was the one who’d been hit, feeling Talia’s grip threaten to pull his hair out by its roots.

“Remember, beloved. This is because of you. You were given the choice, and you chose this.”

In between gasps and screams, Dick managed to get out, “Don—!” But the fists kept coming down, and even knowing Dick didn’t want him to, it was hard for Bruce not to blame himself. Especially when Talia wiped the tears off his face, as Dick went from screaming to  _ wailing. _

Bruce had studied torture tactics. He knew the words were coming. He’d even managed to ignore them while he was being waterboarded, what might have been yesterday.

Hearing them in his old lover’s voice, while his son screamed, was so much harder.

“You can stop this, beloved. You already hate the Council of Spiders, after what happened with Timothy. You can stop this  _ and _ them.” Talia’s grip on his head relaxed, turned into something almost gentle. Dick wasn’t even trying to talk anymore. Bruce had heard at least three bones break.

But he  _ couldn’t _ let Ra’s make him kill. Once it started, it would never stop. Bruce wasn’t sure he would  _ want _ to stop. “N-no.”

Talia tutted, the same way Damian always did when he was upset. The grip in Bruce’s hair went painful–tight again. Across the room, one of the torturers picked up what looked like a lead pipe.

Dick started to  _ sob. _

“Talia.” Bruce tried to twist to look at her, but she shoved his head back around. 

“This is your fault.  _ Watch him.” _

“Talia,  _ please!” _

“You know what you need to say to stop this, beloved.” The next strike broke two ribs at once.

“Have — have them hit me,  _ please, _ Talia!”

“That would be inefficient. You are affected more by his pain than your own, and my father wishes you to fight. I will be surprised if Richard can walk, after this.”

It wasn’t working. Dick’s sobs were getting quieter, bones were breaking more and more often, and there was  _ nothing Bruce could do to stop it. _

“Dick,” he finally gave up and sobbed. “Dick, I’m here,  _ Dick!” _

Dick mouthed something that might have been  _ Bruce. _ Bruce felt his blood turning to ice in his veins. 

The next blow audibly snapped Dick’s collarbone. The boy’s wail was a short, shattered thing that ended with a cough. There was a soft, wet sound as the blood he had coughed up hit the floor.

_ “Dick!” _ Bruce’s scream was an animal noise more than a name. He ignored his numb calves and screaming knees, forcing himself  _ up _ into Talia’s grip. He managed to throw himself forward a whole six inches before she recovered. “Stop, stop it, you’re  _ killing him!” _

_ “You _ are the one with the power to stop this, beloved,” Talia hissed. “And you know that his death is no barrier to the League. If he dies, we shall simply fetch one of his brothers for you to watch while we revive him. Or perhaps you would prefer to hold his body for a time?”

“No.  _ No,” _ Bruce moaned. This couldn’t be happening. Losing Jason had almost killed him. This was  _ Dick, _ his first boy, his high–flying first Robin. Bruce didn’t know if he could survive Dick dying  _ once _ . To have to watch him die over and over again, crying and broken and choking up blood—

“I will,” Bruce whispered.

“Hm?” Talia’s grip loosened, just faintly.

“I’ll do it, I’ll fight whoever you want me to fight. Talia,  _ please, _ he’s going to die!”

“Ah, there we are. Enough.” At her order, the blows stopped falling, and the iron band squeezing Bruce’s chest loosened, just a little. “Ensure that Richard has medical care.” Talia knelt to look Bruce in the eye. “I knew you would make the right choice, beloved.”

The lips that brushed against his cheek were warm, but the touch felt colder than ice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce took down the Council of Spiders base, just like he said he would. Talia thinks he deserves a reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring two sentences from Buddhist Perspectives 367.

Intellectually, Bruce knew that there was no way there could be blood on his hands. The League of Assassins used the same reinforced polyethylene he used in the Batsuit, capable of withstanding searing heat, freezing cold, or a full–strength punch from Superman without losing integrity. That integrity was rated for up to Level 4 Biosafety. There was no way any blood could have seeped through. The sensation was entirely psychosomatic.

Then why couldn’t he make it  _ stop? _

There was a soft  _ clunk _ as the cell door was unlocked from the outside. Talia stepped in, stunning as she always was in her father’s green and white. Bruce felt the subtle burn of attraction he always did, and hated himself for it. After what she had done to Dick, how could he still want her?

“Prudence delivered the report on your behavior to me,” Talia said without preamble. “Apparently your actions were less satisfactory than she expected.”

Bruce flinched. His blood was ice. There was no air in the room. All he could think about was Dick, crying, broken, being dragged away after Talia had had him beaten almost to death. Bruce knew, he  _ knew _ when he left escape routes out of that hellhole that he was putting Dick in danger, but here and now the price seemed so much higher than it had then.

Talia let her words hang in the room for a long moment, watching him panic. Bruce wondered, vaguely, past the fear, if she enjoyed this. He knew her father would have.

Then the moment was over. “However, the Spiders are still scattered, and the base is gone. Given the goal was achieved, a certain amount of leniency is possible.”

And somehow those words had breathed all the air back into the room. Bruce nearly collapsed onto the rough cot. “Talia.  _ Thank you.” _

She didn’t respond, but gave him that soft, hesitant blink she always did when exposed to any sort of kindness. Bruce’s heart ached. “Given the circumstances, my father has agreed to certain, mm, incentives. Come.” Talia swept back out the door, not waiting to see if Bruce would follow. He stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want whatever  _ incentives _ Ra’s had prepared for him, but being considered disobedient could be worse.

It wasn’t far, but Talia was well–rested and uninjured, while Bruce had jumped straight into a three–day mission after being tortured for… he didn’t even know how long. By the time they reached another nondescript stone door, identical to the one on Bruce’s cell and dozens of others in the hallway, he was panting with exertion. 

Talia met his gaze once he finally staggered to lean on the doorframe. “Had you performed as well as we  _ know _ you are capable of, you would have an hour. As it stands, you have half of one. I suggest you make use of it.” She pressed her palm to an unmarked steel gray pad where a door handle should have been. There was a soft beep, a clunk like the one for the lock on Bruce’s own cell, and then the door swung open.

Bruce hadn’t realized how much of his weight had been on the door and not the frame. He stumbled forwards, trying to regain his balance. The door immediately slammed shut behind him, which meant that Talia hadn’t come through. The thought surprised him so much that he truly lost his balance. There was no way he wouldn’t come crashing down, and part of him  _ wanted _ the release that denting his skull on the granite floor would get him — 

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Strong, nimble,  _ familiar _ hands caught him, set him back on his feet. “B, it’s okay, I promise.”

Bruce  _ stared. _ He had to be hallucinating. “Dick? Are you —” He didn’t know how to finish it. He didn’t even know what he wanted to ask.

Because that was  _ Dick,  _ his  _ son _ standing there smiling at him. Standing on his own two feet, when Talia had had him beaten almost to death less than a week before. 

Dick gave him that relieved smile, the one from long nights after patrols, when he was tired and sore and happy to be alive. “Yeah, I am.”

“You —  _ how —” _ Bruce pulled back, looking Dick over. When Jason had come out of the Pit, there had been a white streak in his hair, but if Dick hadn’t been — if he’d still been breathing when Talia had thrown him in, then maybe — 

“B, hey, B.  _ Bruce!” _ Dick was guiding him down, onto a cot that could be the twin of the one in Bruce’s cell. “I didn’t — she didn’t put me in the pit, B, there was some kind of healing meta. I wasn’t awake enough to get any details. But I swear, I’m  _ okay. _ Well. As okay as I can be, considering.” He took Bruce’s hands gently. “Seriously, B, I won’t say it didn’t hurt like hell, but I’m doing okay.”

_ “Good, _ that’s good.” Bruce squeezed Dick’s hands, feeling the heavy calluses from gymnastics and freerunning and working with his escrima sticks. “I was so — when you were up there, I —” Bruce didn’t know how to articulate everything he wanted to say.  _ Thank you for being alive? I’m sorry I got you hurt? I’m sorry I betrayed everything I ever taught you? _ “If, if she — if they do that again, do you want me to—”

“Don’t you  _ dare.” _ Dick pulled back to stare Bruce in the eye. “I know — I know there’s a limit. To what you can take. But don’t you dare just  _ give in _ because you think that’s what I want!”

“I’ll try,” Bruce murmured. He wasn’t sure if he could last even that long again. “I, I can’t promise, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I need.” Dick relaxed, just slightly. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

Bruce blinked. Was  _ he— _ Dick was the one who had nearly been — 

But. “No,” he admitted. Everything about Nanda Parbat reminded him of a time in his life that he wished he could forget. A time he had hoped that his sons would never have to go through. And yet, here they were. “I’m not, I — I got people killed.”

Dick sucked in a breath. “You didn’t — you got them killed, you didn’t kill them?” There was no judgment in his voice. He was just trying to understand.

Bruce thought he understood, now, back in Laos when they would talk about karma, what they meant. He certainly didn’t do anything in this life to deserve this boy, this  _ man, _ who loved him so much. Who was willing to forgive so much of him.

“I, I planned the assault. Led it. I didn’t kill any of them, but—”

“The League did,” Dick finished. “B, that’s not your fault.”

“I could have stopped them. I could have misplanned the assault, made it look like an accident…”

“Not coming straight off a week of torture,” Dick said. “Not so that Ra’s al Ghul wouldn’t have noticed. I  _ know _ you, Bruce. I know more of them survived because you were there.”

Bruce wished he had as much faith in himself as Dick had in him.

“Can I hug you?” Bruce asked. He’d been so careful, touching Dick — Dick still had to hurt, so many broken bones didn’t just disappear — but he wanted to hold his son.

_ “Yeah, _ yeah, of course!” Dick leaned into him, wriggling himself to get situated the same way he had when he was nine and Bruce would buy him ice cream after a night on patrol. They would find a high rise, and sit on the top to watch the city lights, and Dick would lean into him just like he was doing now. Bruce missed it.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Dick admitted softly. “We probably don’t have much time.”

“Talia said half an hour.” They’d spent at least ten minutes of that already.

“That’s not much time.” Dick dropped his weight, dragged them both down so they were lying together on the cot. “What do you think Alfie has planned for the gardens next year? He was really into coleus during last year’s planning, but after Damian’s speech about bees, I think he’s considering more wildflowers. Or at least native flowers.”

Bruce had never been good at making small talk when it actually mattered. Dick didn’t seem to care much. He just kept talking, and Bruce could drink in the sight and sound and feel of him. Of his  _ son, _ safe in his arms, at least for now. 

In the middle of listening to a series of increasingly enthusiastic opinions on current trends in aerial silk artistry, Bruce realized he’d forgotten something. “Dick.”

“—and it looks good, it really does, but — yeah? Something up?”  _ Are we under attack? _ that slant of blue eyes asked.

“I just realized, I’d forgotten to say…” This was hard, for Bruce. Touch and action were the ways he spoke best, not words. “I, I love you, Dick.”

Dick froze for a moment, and Bruce worried that somehow it had been the wrong thing to say. But then there were long, lean arms around him, squeezing tight. “I love you too, Dad,” Dick said, voice muffled in Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce thought that the coldness on his bare back might be tears, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe if he didn’t, Dick would ignore the wetness on his own shoulder.

“If you see your brothers—”

“I’ll tell them.” Neither of them mentioned how unlikely that would be.

That was how Talia found them, not five minutes later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Damian... bond?
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: Mention of offscreen animal death and force-feeding, vomiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those who asked for Damian, Tim, and Jason...  
> Well. Two out of three?

"Fuggoff," Jason snarled. He batted the demon brat's hands away. "Id's just by noze."

"It presents a clear vulnerable area for any opponent Grandfather chooses to assign you," Damian argued. He dabbed at Jason's nose with a paper towel. "Minimizing its visibility will minimize the disadvantage."

Jason hissed and swatted the kid away. _"Dabbit brad!_ Dat _hurds!"_

"As well it should," Damian sniffed. "Now hold still. You will most likely be returning to the fighting pits tonight, and your performance will reflect on myself as well as Father and Mother."

"'D fug does dat even _bean,"_ Jason muttered. Even so, he tipped his head back to let Damian work on his probably-broken nose. He had to remember that part of the reason the Demon Brat _was_ the Demon Brat was because he had grown up here. He knew how the League operated, in all its fucked-up glory. If he said that Jason needed to win, or at least make a good showing, in Ra's little cage matches, much as Jason hated to admit it, he was probably right. Not that Damian was worrying about Jason.

Would Ra's actually hurt the kid if Jason didn't manage to meet his fucked-up expectations? Was Jason supposed to earn their place here somehow? He realized that he didn't actually know how to function in the League without the protection of being Talia al Ghul's pet project. Which was. Y'know, just a little bit terrifying, considering that he was currently trapped here with the kid that was no longer the League's prince. Fuck.

The former prince who, for all his training, was a scared kid whose dad was in danger. If not both his parents. Much as Jason hated to admit it, his heart hurt at the thought of Bruce in the League's hands, and he hadn't been living with the guy for... shit, was it almost a year now?

Shiiiiiiit, Jason was the only support Damian had right now, huh. Jason was self-aware enough to know that he wasn't... good with kids. And Damian, for all his many, _many_ faults, was still a kid. What did you even _say_ to kids? "B an' your mom are tough. Dey'll be okay." That was a generally Dick-approved phrase, right? God, Dick would be so much better at this.

"I am not a fool, Todd," Damian snapped. He stomped over to the tiny en-suite bathroom to wash Jason's blood off his hands. "I am aware that my parents are of value to the League."

Okay... that was _not_ on the list of responses Jason had been expecting. Did he just not want to talk about them? He could have just said so. Jason tipped his head back, hoping that his nose would stop bleeding sometime soon. After three consecutive nights as Ra's personal entertainment, he didn't really have blood left to lose. "How do you think de Replacemend is doing? Ra's said-"

Jason cut himself off with a yelp as Damian dug a pint-sized fist into his side and slammed him back down on the couch. "Wha' de hell, Demon Brad?"

"Do your best to ensure this penetrates your thick skull, Todd," Damian snarled. "You were trained by both the Bat and the League. A certain standard of skill and behavior is expected from you. If you fail to meet that standard, it will be beaten out of you. Or," Damian leaned close and hissed, like he was whispering a threat in Jason's ear, "if Grandfather knows you care, he will break the one you care for." Damian pulled back. "If that is insufficient motivation, perhaps Grandfather will allow me to see to your punishment myself." The kid was a good actor, but those eyes were _terrified._

Jason thought about what the brat - the _kid_ had just said, and the way he collected dogs and cats and a whole-ass cow, and promptly lost his lunch all over the floor.

"Are you concussed?" Damian demanded immediately. He hauled Jason's head back to look at his pupils.

"Nah, brad, I'b fine." Jason's stomach still roiled. He realized that, despite the fact that Damian was still barely older than when Bruce first started bringing Dick out as Robin, Jason had never seen him cry. Jason had seen _Bruce_ cry more than he'd seen Damian cry.

He wondered if Talia had come to see Damian since she'd had him kidnapped. Somehow, Jason thought he already knew the answer.

"So, how's dis whole ding work?" Jason asked. It was about the only thing he could come up with that might not set Damian off again. Also, he kind of had a vested interest in knowing, given it was his own skin on the line. "Ra'z jusd adds ub how you do an' decides how far d'hell I ged by ass bead?"

"I believe that my performance in training does affect the number of enemies you face in the fighting pits, yes," Damian admitted. "Though it does not seem to be directly proportionate. It's possible that... that Grandfather is also factoring Drake's performance at his assigned tasks into your difficulties, as well."

Jason remembered Tim, pale and fitted with a gag with a hole for their captors to feed him through, sitting at Ra's side at dinner. How his face had looked, watching Jason fight enemy after enemy, over and over, until he could barely swing his fists.

Ra's was a _bastard._

"'S nod your fauld," Jason ground out. God, he wished Dick were here. He was so much better at handling the brat. "Ra's is d'one makin' all dis happen. Nod you."

Damian bowed his head, as if he were back in the Cave, meditating with Bruce. His fingers linked together gently. There wasn't a gram of tension in his body. Which, given the situation, was a dead giveaway. Jason continued dabbing at the blood on his face. "Spid i' ou'."

"If we are rescued, may I come live with you?"

Jason was so surprised that he whacked his broken nose. _"Ow!_ Wha d'fug? _Why?"_

"Grandfather will not allow me to go without killing much longer," Damian admitted. "Father will not abide by this, but you have already killed. If he... no longer wishes me to be part of his household..."

"If B drows you ou' for dat, sure, you can live wid me." Jason thought back to the months where he'd been in the same situation. "Promise do helb me burn de place down an' I'll even break you out of Arkham, if I have to. Assumin' your mom doesn' bead me do id."

Damian's smile was a fleeting thing, like the sun through clouds on a Gotham morning. Jason wondered if this was what parents felt like when looking at their kids.

 _Shit._ Had he just volunteered to be a parent?


End file.
